


only proof (that i need)

by caramelle



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Post-Canon, featuring los tres geckos bein' their usual bamf selves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: The thing is, as long as they're working a job, he has to spend a good three-quarters of his day calling Kate Fuller his wife.… Not that it's a chore, or anything.But, ultimately, it's fucking terrible, because he's officially stopped thinking twice before opening his mouth to say the damned words.  Or, the one where Seth has trouble disassociating completely from the cover he and Kate employ most — that of Young Newlywed Couple.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lmao idek where this fic came from, it truly just hit me outta nowhere so here, DROWN IN THE SK WITH ME
> 
>  
> 
> (title from 'Proof' by Paramore)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seth's not much of a numbers guy.

 

But if he had to make a guess, he'd say that out of all his problems — and, _fuck_ , he's had a fair few — at least eighty-four percent of them can easily be traced back to his brother.

 

And for all intents and purposes, he thinks it's pretty safe to say that what he's experiencing right now _definitely_ counts as a problem.

 

The thing is, he hadn't quite expected how _different_ their lives would be with Kate around.

 

Don't get him wrong. He _much_ prefers it this way. Things are fine, not more difficult or complicated or anything.

 

In fact, they're… kind of _easier_.

 

Truth be told, after years and years of sharp suits and dark glasses, he hadn't quite realised what a good, _effective_ cover it would be for him and his brother just to have a sweet-faced, beautiful young girl hanging around. People barely even _look_ at him or Richie anymore — not when Kate's there, gently blinding them with her soft smile and soothing lilt. No one even spares them a second glance, let alone a first one that's focused enough to figure out that _'oh hey aren't these guys supposed to be the infamous bank robbers slash murderers? Also, aren't they DEAD?'_

 

Countless stacks of crappy aliases and forged documents, and the best goddamn cover he and Richie have ever had is a preacher's daughter named Kate Fuller.

 

… Okay, fine. So maybe Richie did have a point.

 

But he's _still_ to blame for Seth's current predicament.

 

Because, whatever the case, it sure as hell isn't _Seth's_ fault.

 

See, the real problem is task division.

 

The big advantage with Kate is that she can get right up close to targets and marks without arousing any suspicion. When a beautiful, well-mannered, well-dressed white girl appears in your fine establishment asking polite questions here and there because she's _curious_ , literally no one's first reaction is ever going to be to put their guard up. In fact, for him and Richie, the last few heists have been the easiest they've ever run, thanks to a near doubling in the amount of information they manage to glean with Kate pulling the strings. The more information you have, the better your plan always is, as Richie constantly likes to remind them all.

 

The slight disadvantage with Kate, though, is the limit to just _how_ deep she can go before a teller or a deliveryman starts to suspect something. It _is_ the twenty-first century, yes — but there are still several questions a woman can ask that wouldn't raise any eyebrows if she were a man.

 

Which means one of the Geckos have to accompany her at all times.

 

Now, this is a no-brainer. Obviously, Richie is not exactly _known_ for his smooth flair when it comes to dealing with strangers, so it's definitely going to be Seth at Kate's side.

 

The tricky part is their actual _cover story_.

 

Which is why everything is all Richie's fault.

 

"Richie's got a point," Kate had said, the first time the three of them had sat down to discuss it. "The newlyweds shtick sounds like a safer bet. People tend to get all blissed out when they hear stuff like that."

 

Seth had shaken his head, exasperated. "Why can't we just do the regular couple routine?" he'd argued at Richie, deliberately avoiding Kate's questioning frown. "Or, better yet, the good ol' brother-sister act."

 

Richie had merely raised a brow, his steady gaze flicking between him and Kate. "You're _kidding_ , right?"

 

His brother had been right, of course. He and Kate could never pull off looking like _siblings_ , not in a million years, and _certainly_ not in this or any other universe.

 

But, at the end of the day, Seth would very much like to have someone to blame for the mess he's been reduced to, and he would _very_ much prefer it to be anyone but himself.

 

Look, he's a professional _thief_ , all right? He's not an _actor_ , or fucking vice president of the _drama club_ or something. He can't seriously be expected to stay undercover and in character all throughout the day without it bleeding over into his subconscious. Shit, he's only _human_.

 

(Fuck, he'd like to see _Richie_ try it.)

 

It's just that — _God_. He hadn't truly realised just _how much_ they'd have to _be_ undercover.

 

Casing joints. Recon missions. Tailing marks. Scouting out a possible score. Checking in and out of _any_ temporary lodging, whether it's a third-rate B&B or a five star hotel.

 

Whatever it is they're doing — as long as they're working a job, he has to spend a good three-quarters of his day calling Kate Fuller his _wife_.

 

 _Jesus._ He never even thought he'd say the words again. Not after Vanessa, at least.

 

Throw in the fact that the three of them usually spend anywhere from three days to three _weeks_ just _prepping_ for a job, and, yeah, that's _a lot_ of time spent just consciously trying to remind himself to _call Kate Fuller his wife._

 

To be fair, they usually take a few weeks off between jobs to lie low. That's the routine: let the heat die down, move to a fresh location and start again. But it's not like that makes it any easier for him to properly and fully grasp the fact that — even though it's one hundred percent _pretend_ — Kate Fuller equals _his wife_.

 

… Not that it's a _chore_ , or anything.

 

Once again, _don't_ get him wrong. It's not terrible because it's _bad_ , or because he _hates_ it.

 

If anything, it's terrible because it's… well, it's _not_ bad.

 

If anything, it's terrible because he most definitely does _not_ hate it.

 

But, ultimately, it's fucking _terrible_ , because he's officially reached the point of no fucking return, where he's completely stopped thinking twice before opening his mouth to _say_ the damned words.

 

Which is why he's here now, frozen stock-still at this boba stand, his entire face on fucking _fire_ as two sets of eyes stare at him expectantly.

 

"Sir?" the man behind the counter repeats, one brow raised. "I said, is that all?"

 

"Uh," he says blankly, one hand in his wallet as he stares back at the man. " _Uh_..."

 

Next to him, Kate steps up to the counter.

 

"Yes, that's all," she says, smiling pleasantly. "What's our total?"

 

The man's perturbed gaze lingers on Seth for a brief moment before flipping over to Kate, the smile reappearing on his face. "Twelve fifty, ma'am."

 

Kate calmly reaches over Seth's arm, plucking his wallet from his slack fingers to pull out some money. "Keep the change," she says, flashing the man a brilliant smile. Her hand comes up to rest on Seth's shoulder, giving him a light push under the guise of an affectionate pat. "Have a nice day, now."

 

They move over to the drinks collection counter, Kate flipping his wallet closed before placing it back in his hands. His fingers automatically close around the leather, his mouth snapping shut before opening again. "I— uh—"

 

"It's _fine_ , Seth," Kate says reassuringly, turning sideways to prop one elbow on the counter. "Slip of the tongue. Nothing to worry about."

 

"Right," he says, blinking. "Slip of— right, yeah." Clearing his throat, he shakes his head, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "Not to worry."

 

"Uh huh," she says, smiling like she's just thought of some private joke. "Okay. Cool."

 

The stocky man working the drinks machines appears on the other side of the counter. "Two orders of almond milk tea, one to go," he announces, sliding over two cups. He hands a third to Kate, smiling cheerfully at them. "And a caramel frappe, for the missus."

 

Seth actually blacks out for a second.

 

When he comes to, the man is already gone and back at work on the next order. Kate is at his side, laughing softly.

 

"Come on, Seth," she says cheerfully, flipping her sunglasses back down over her eyes from where they'd been sitting on top of her head. "Richie's waiting."

 

"Oh, shit," he mutters dazedly, snagging the two cups off the counter before taking off after her. "Hey — no need to tell Richie about this, all right!"

 

 

 

Richie spends the rest of the day waggling his brows pointedly at Seth, mouth already curved upwards with the smuggest smirk he's ever worn.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He does it again barely twenty-four hours later.

 

They head into a Chinese restaurant to satisfy Richie's craving for orange chicken. Seth orders for all three of them, but he starts when Kate taps lightly on his arm.

 

"Oh, right," he says, waving at the harried waitress to halt her right as she starts to move off. "And an extra side of egg rolls, for my wife."

 

The waitress nods, already walking away before his brain can even catch up with his own mouth.

 

"Oh," he says, his widened eyes swivelling back to his dinner companions. "Oh, _fuck_ me."

 

"Richie," Kate says, her warning tone offset by the barely suppressed smile, half hidden behind a hand.

 

"I didn't say anything," Richie says, palms raised in faux innocence. "Technically, _he's_ the one who—"

 

"Shut up," Seth says abruptly, one hand held up in finality. "Everyone just… _shut up_."

 

Richie raises a brow. "What, you want us all to just sit here in _silence_ while we—"

 

"Yep," Seth says curtly, thrusting his hand into the air to flag down the waitress yet again.

 

He has a sinking feeling that he's going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than the beer he's already ordered.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He does it again three days later.

 

"You _do_ know we're not actually undercover _yet_ right?" Richie asks, horchata in hand. Seth shakes his head, and Richie cocks his, tone deliberately conversational. "The job doesn't start for at _least_ another two days?"

 

"I'm aware, _Richard_ ," Seth snaps, shoving out of the gas station kiosk without turning to see if his brother is following. "But thank you, _thank you_ for the reminder."

 

Richie shrugs, keeping pace easily with his slightly longer legs. "You know she doesn't actually _mind_ , right?"

 

"Is this _supposed_ to be helping?" Seth asks irritatedly as they reach the car.

 

Richie hums in consideration, completely unruffled. "Well, it's not supposed to be _hurting_."

 

Seth makes a sound of pure frustration, a low growl torn right out of his throat. "It's not like I'm doing this shit on _purpose_ ," he grumbles, yanking open the driver's seat door. " _You_ try being fake married to her throughout every goddamn job we pull."

 

"Oh, but you're already so _good_ at it," Richie says mildly, folding himself into the passenger seat over the sounds of his brother's annoyed 'tch'.

 

 

 

"Okay, but, for real, though?" Richie pipes up again when they're two minutes away from their inn. "I _really_ don't see what the problem is here."

 

"Oh, _really_ , Richard?" Seth asks scornfully, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You _don't_ see what the problem is here? _You,_ don't see the _problem_?"

 

Richie takes a noisy sip of his horchata, "You do understand that repeating whatever I say with slight but dramatic variations in emphasis and intonation doesn't actually count as a comeback, right?"

 

" _You_ don't count as a comeback," Seth mutters sullenly, turning the car into the small parking lot of the inn.

 

"Nice." Richie's head tilts as if in consideration. "Seriously, brother. It's been _months_ since Matanzas. You and Kate should be a lot more than just fake married by now."

 

Seth practically chokes on his own tongue. "I'm going to pretend you did _not_ just say that."

 

"I'm just saying," Richie says, infuriatingly serene. "It's not _healthy_ for you to be suppressing your emotions this way. That's how you get cancer."

 

"No mortality, no opinion," Seth snaps grouchily, throwing the car into park. "Anyway, what the fuck are you suggesting I do? Because,  _obviously_ , I can't fucking _marry her_ for real."

 

Richie opens his door with a shrug. "A little too late to worry about consummation, brother. Besides, it's just like I said — Kate definitely doesn't mind."

 

Seth gapes soundlessly, his mouth opening and closing for a long beat, before he snaps to his senses, scrambling out of the car to follow after his brother.

 

"I thought I told you to stop being a cryptic asshole!"

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

This would probably be a good time to clarify that it's not that he's scared. He's not _scared_ , all right?

 

He's pretty sure anyone who's spent two seconds with him would know how he feels about Kate. One word, one _look_ from her, and he would follow her to the fucking ends of the earth. Shit, he _literally_ followed her to the _actual_ gates of hell.

 

It's one thing to live life on the run with her, robbing banks and rich asshats as they go.

 

It's an _entirely_ different thing to— well— to _be with_ _her._

 

(Yes, he knows he's pathetic. He's been well and _very_ extensively informed by Richie on the subject of his pathetic-ness on more than one occasion, thank you very much. Don't give him that fucking _look_.)

 

But still, she's _Kate_.

 

She's strong — stronger than him, stronger than the fucking _Queen of Hell_.

 

She's smart, and stubborn, and witty, and determined, and, even after all she's been through, _kind_.

 

She's beautiful, and lovely, and adorable, and she still gets so fucking _joyful_ whenever she finds out that the cheap motel they're putting up in for the week has a tiny ass pool.

 

She died, actually _died_ and came back to life firing on all cylinders, like some kind of fucking phoenix rising from the ashes.

 

She's all of _that_.

 

And Seth? Well, Seth's just… _Seth_. If Kate's a phoenix, then he's a goddamn magpie.

 

Or, whatever, a crow. A pigeon, or some other shit.

 

Whatever the fuck he is, it's something commonplace, and dirty, and nowhere _near_ good enough to even _think_ about it.

 

Even if that doesn't actually stop him from thinking about it.

 

But, he's gotta admit — and, God, he would rather have his balls sandpapered than say this to Richie _out loud_ — his brother's right. After everything that went down in Matanzas, after everything that went down ever since he first stepped out in front of that whitewashed old RV at the Dew Drop Inn, whatever it is that's between him and Kate is well beyond quantification. It's beyond shy flirtations, and first dates, and holding hands at the movies — or whatever the fuck it is normal people do. Shit, he's _never_ been quite sure what the fuck it is normal people do.

 

He's him, and she's her, and they're _them_. It's high time he stopped trying to pretend all that doesn't exist.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He decides he has to do it before the next job begins.

 

It's a little bit to avoid any possible awkwardness between him and Kate while they're pretending to be newlyweds again.

 

It's mostly to prevent himself from physically and spontaneously combusting from the inside out.

 

He pulls his shit together, and plans it all real nice.

 

He books a table for two at a pretty little Italian bistro with a menu that boasts a bunch of items he knows without a doubt Kate likes.

 

Richie's set for the evening, safely steered out of the way with a couple hundred bucks cash and directions to the nicest steakhouse within a fifty-mile radius.

 

He even digs a tie out from the bottom of his bag. He usually goes with just the shirt and jacket when they're on their downtime, but apparently, he's going the whole nine yards with tonight, so a tie it is. He smooths a hand over it, making sure it's free of creases before laying it on the bed, ready to go for when he needs it.

 

And then right after lunch, Kate wheedles him into running out for frozen yoghurt.

 

"I'm just saying," he grouses as they move up in the short queue. "It's basically _ice cream_ , all right? This 'yoghurt' business, the whole goddamn thing is just one giant fucking scam."

 

"And yet, you never miss a chance to get one for yourself," Kate points out idly, tucking a stray lock of auburn behind her ear.

 

"I _like_ ice cream, okay?" he says defensively. "Who the fuck doesn't like ice cream? I bet even Brasa had a thing for ice cream."

 

She arches a brow. "You realise he was the _sun god_."

 

" _Exactly_ ," Seth says with a grand flourish. " _That_ is the power of ice cream."

 

Kate snickers, both of them glancing ahead when the pair of middle-aged ladies in front of them move off with their frozen dairy treats in hand.

 

Seth steps forward, already opening his mouth to order for them. They're both pretty standard with their fro-yo preferences, it's not much of a stretch to get it right.

 

"Hi, can we get two medium cups, please? Just the regular plain flavour for both. I'll have some almond nuts and Oreo bits on mine. Oh, no, no toppings for my boyfriend."

 

He's _reasonably_ confident that time itself has stopped dead in its tracks.

 

Kate hands some money over, smiling at the bored-looking teenager who slides their orders over to them in return. "Thanks," she says brightly, sticking a spoon into each cup before picking both up, and tripping off lightly.

 

He finally remembers to close his mouth, his unhinged jaw pulling shut as he starts after her.

 

She veers off towards a small table, dropping into one of the chairs with a sigh. "I still don't understand how you can eat this _completely_ plain," she says, pushing his cup over with a feigned shudder. "Not even some _sauce_ or something? If you should ever get arrested for anything, it's that."

 

He sinks slowly into the second chair, still gaping at her.

 

She glances at him, brows furrowed as she pops her first spoonful of yoghurt into her mouth. "What?"

 

"Uh," is all he can quite manage.

 

Leaning back in her chair, she surveys him up and down, head cocked like a thought's just occurred to her. "Is this because I called you my boyfriend?"

 

He makes a small choking sound. He can vaguely feel his fingers going numb, which he's well aware is an oxymoron in itself.

 

With a roll of her eyes, she laughs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Well, it's a lot better than you accidentally blurting _'my wife'_ again and looking like all of your hair's just fallen out, isn't it?" she says with a shrug, spooning up some more yoghurt. "Definitely a lot more accurate too, anyway."

 

Okay, time _really_ needs to stop doing that thing where it just fucking _quits_ on him without any warning.

 

Kate dissolves into laughter, reaching out with one hand to brush her knuckles over the stubble peppered along his slack jaw. "Are you seriously _surprised_?"

 

He stares at her.

 

After a long moment, he clears his throat, his voice returning from its brief vacation into the void of nothingness. "I was gonna take you out," he says, wincing inwardly at the rough, croaking version of his voice that comes out of his mouth. "Tonight. On a—" he clears his throat again, _stop being fucking RIDICULOUS,_ "—on a _date_."

 

She scrunches her nose. " _Was_? Is it cancelled or something?"

 

He blinks. "What? No, I— _what_?" With a small jerk, he pulls himself to sit up straight in his chair, shaking his head violently. " _No_."

 

She beams at him, her hand sliding round the back of his neck, fingers curling into the short bristles of his hair. "Okay. Good."

 

It takes him a couple of seconds, but he does eventually regain enough control of his psychomotor abilities that he's able to kiss her back, both hands curving round her face to reciprocate with breathless enthusiasm.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Of course, it's too much to hope that Kate will be merciful enough to refrain from bringing the whole fiasco up at dinner.

 

"I still can't believe you didn't know we were already together," she snickers into her chardonnay, eyes dancing with amusement over the rim of her glass. "You do know even Amaru picked up on it, right?"

 

"Okay, no," he says decisively, shaking his head. "I take it back. _That's_ the most hurtful thing anyone's ever said to me."

 

She rolls her eyes, setting her glass down. "You'll recover."

 

He shrugs. Truth be told, he doesn't really mind, and he doesn't really care.

 

It's a little because he's still riding the high of their earlier _consummation_.

 

It's mostly because he's just too fucking _happy_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it! kudos/comments are really great Christmas presents and also they are free <3
> 
>  
> 
> we could be chillin' like ice cream fillin' over on [tumblr](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com)


End file.
